United
by Tarafina
Summary: They've had a summer of just each other and now she wonders if they can face the music. PxR


**Title**: United  
**Category**: Glee  
**Genre**: Romance/Drama  
**Ship**: Rachel/Puck  
**Rating**: Teen  
**Warning(s)**: Coarse Language, Sexual Innuendo  
**Prompt**: Fuck what they think! What do you think? - puckrachel drabble meme  
**Word Count**: 2,049  
**Summary**: They've had a summer of just each other and now she wonders if they can face the music.

**_United_**  
-1/1-

They're standing just outside the doors to McKinley. She chews her lip, feeling her nerves gnaw away at her once cement hard resolve. It had taken the whole summer for this to manifest in the way she wanted, in the way they both deserved. It had taken a summer away from glee and McKinley and Finn Hudson to let herself accept that those feelings stirring in her chest were real and acceptable and even if it wasn't for the boy everyone might consider 'right,' they had made a choice and she couldn't (shouldn't) fight them. She remembered what butterflies felt like; she remembered how they fluttered and wiggled and made her breath stutter. Butterflies were what she felt for Finn once upon a time, what made her fight for him even when he had a pregnant girlfriend. What she feels now, what she feels every time Puck so much as looks at her, is not butterflies. There are no wings that tickle her insides with an innocence that might make little girls smile. What she feels isn't in her stomach at all; it's in her heart. There's a ping in her chest, like her heart has stuttered in surprise. There's a warmth to her skin; it spreads out in curling ripples and touches every inch of her body. Her throat goes dry and her breathing shallow and her fingers itch, they twitch and curl and beg to reach out.

What she feels for Puck is lust. It's white hot and it does things to her; makes her knees shake and lower belly fill with an all consuming heat. But it's not all she feels. Because while Puck encourages her most base of needs, it's his other half that makes her soul float. When Noah smiles at her, when he plays with her hair or sings with her or rearranges her fingers on his prized guitar, teaching her each string with both precision and gentle grace, the flush to her cheeks is not of want and desire but of adoration. Of pleasure prompted by feeling wanted and accepted and liked for who she is. He is both of these people, a man trapped in a boy trapped between self hate and self love. He says he's better, says he's badass and cool, but he feels like nothing, fears he'll never go far. And she soothes those fears with her unending praise and belief in him; she tells him he will get out of Lima, that he will do great things, that he is no loser. And he listens, _really _listens, because she's right, because she believes every word she says.

Rachel and Noah fall in love during the summer before their senior year. He was her only friend since her break-up with Finn and the only one willing to put up with her crazy when glee wasn't involved. They kissed in the back of his truck with grape slushee frozen lips and as soon as he got her he didn't let her go. For two and a half months, it was hot Lima days spent wasting away afternoons swimming in his customer's pools, picnicking by the lake (her idea) and skinny-dipping when the sun was low enough to get away with it (his idea). He got her drunk twice, but when she ralphed in his truck (his _baby!_) he vowed never again. She made him watch musicals and he made her watch the Lethal Weapon series and then the Die Hard series and then whatever other movies with explosions and awesome catchphrases and epic BAMFs. They had inside jokes and laughter and cuddling (mostly making out) on the couch when her dads left town or his mom worked late. She helped him babysit his sister and he drove her to and from her various vocal and dance lessons. They didn't change each other – she didn't walk into his life expecting him to wear animal sweaters and he didn't expect her to be like every girl before her who spread their legs and walked away satisfied, only looking back for a repeat. They blended with each other, almost seamlessly, with hiccups and fighting and making up along the way; like any couple that's worth it.

He makes love to her just as July's ending as August begins; there's no candles or soft music or silky sheets. He just kisses her one afternoon after they were singing and she was bouncing around her room, hairbrush in hand. He doesn't _stop_ kissing her. The afternoon sun is hot, warming the room, a sheen of sweat already collecting on their skin. He slips her t-shirt, with the outline of some kind of animal on front, up her body. He unzips her tiny skirt and lets it fall to her feet, and he admires how confident she stands in her matching little bra and panty set that legit has stars on them. She strips his muscle shirt away, kisses down hot, tanned, rippling skin, catches his nipple ring with her finger and plays with it in fascination. They explore and enjoy and she now knows the fully body taste of him, having kissed and nibbled and licked every hard inch of his body. And he returns the favor tenfold. They make love in her Polly Pocket bedroom and it's not perfect by Hollywood standards, but for _them_, it's incomparable. He's slow and careful and he works her up so all she knows is pleasure and Mohawks and the sound of her name coming off his lips like a prayer.

He doesn't get scared, doesn't cut and run, instead he looks proud. He holds her tighter and he grins wider and even his _Puck _side is satisfied. They spend the rest of the summer with the added benefit of sex, christening the bed of his truck, the picnic blanket they lay by the beach, his bed, his wall, his couch, his dining room table, his back porch swing, his shower, her shower, multiple times over each. She finds herself less tense, more relaxed, with him. And when she gets worked up, he just has to touch her; the skim of his fingers on bare skin and she feels okay, she feels like the world isn't out to stop her from achieving the latest of her goals. Noah is her passion and her calm and she doesn't know how he does it, but she doesn't think anybody could do it better. He can't keep his hands off her and she's hoping it stays that way. She's seventeen and she thinks life is perfect, can't get better. Broadway is still there, in the distance, but this, here, right now… This is RachelandNoah's time. She loves every second of it. She loves him.

The week before school starts things get tense. He's washed his letterman jacket and he tells her she should wear it the first day back. She knows it's his way of _claiming_ her; she calls it a 'sweet but Neanderthal move' and he just smirks. He knows he's possessive; he doesn't 'give a shit.' She tells him not to swear – _It's uncouth and demeans your intelligence, Noah_ – he grins because she thinks he's smart. The jacket starts a fight. She doesn't want to wear it because she fears slushee won't be good for the leather. He vows she'll never be slushied again, not when she's _his _girl. She admires his optimism but knows better. She's also a little worried that when they get back and he realizes his power isn't that far-reaching, he might question if she's worth it. When she says that out loud, he looks mad – vein throbbing at his temple _mad_ – but she also sees the hurt in his eyes.

She sits him down on his bed and crawls into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and stroking her fingers through his 'hawk comfortingly. She wants to tell him it's her own insecurities getting in the way; it's not that she doesn't trust him. Maybe it's a little of both. Puck's not Finn, but it doesn't mean he doesn't like his popularity. And Noah loves her, she knows this, but Puck is who McKinley knows, not Noah. They won't understand, probably won't even _accept _it. And she's scared she'll lose it, lose _him_. She whispers that against his mouth, her eyes downcast, but before he can argue, she kisses him, pushes him back against the bed and promises herself that she'll try, even if his walking away will hurt worse than anything ever has.

He squeezes her hand a week later, standing outside WMHS a week later. She has to roll up the sleeves of his letterman's jacket and it probably looks ridiculous, but it's warm and it smells like him and she's proud; to wear his name, his number, and the red and white of his team. The first bell is about to ring any second and they have to go inside; even her uncertainty can't fight with her need for a perfect attendance record. She looks up at him and he stares back.

"We can do this, Berry," he tells her.

She nods, but falters. "They'll think you're crazy… That I've brainwashed you! They'll—"

"Fuck what they think!" he interrupts fiercely. "What do _you_ think?"

This is Puck. This is the badass that manages to scare Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell with that infamous smirk of his that promises mayhem and required weekly counseling. This is the boy that threw others in dumpster and scared kids off with a curl of his lip. This was the boy that was built of muscle and power and ruled the football team with an iron-fist. The boy before glee, before slushees and baby-mamas and Sweet Caroline. And she feels Noah, in the grip of his fingers tight around her own, sees him in the fear clouding hazel eyes, fear that she'll walk away now, before they've even faced the animosity of their peers. Because Puck is staring at her, begging her with his harsh, loud tone to take a chance on him, to stick with him and he'll stand by her.

His thumb strokes her hand and suddenly she's at ease, she is content, and all her fear and worry drains from her body.

"I think I never should have doubted you," she admits aloud. "I think even if it means a slushee shower every day until graduation, I will proudly stand beside you and root for your failing football team and wear your jacket…" She grips his hand tight and turns toward him, arching her chin up stubbornly. "I think they can't throw anything at me that will change how I feel about you and that as much as I likely irritate you with incessant talking and endless one-sided conversations about Broadway and the Tony's, your feelings for me are much stronger than you or I ever expected…" She watches him soften before her. "And I think I want it to stay that way, for as long as possible, and that interfering with it now would only lead to early heartbreak…" She smiles brightly. "So if you'll kindly forgive me for worrying even slightly, I'd like to show the rest of the school my badass boyfriend."

He grins, turns and gathers her up close, slanting his mouth across hers hard and possessive and _proud_. And when he draws back, they're panting and her hair is mussed and she doesn't know when she did it, but she's gripping his 'hawk tightly. She can feel a buzzing in her lips, a sign that they're full and puffy and thoroughly kissed. Smirk now firmly in place, he pivots, takes her hand again, knots their fingers and pulls open the door to the school. They walk inside and sound seems to stop, eyes turn and stare. She smiles and she struts and she leans into the boy beside her, the boy holds his head high and never falters in his step or looks around to see who might be watching. He's silently giving them all the metaphorical 'finger' and she feels as good as if she's been given every solo for the year.

She thinks she and Noah will go far, they will face adversity and criticism and disbelief and they will stand strong, together.

She's right.

[**End.**]


End file.
